The Highlander's Irish Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Someone gave you the boot, did she?” Kathleen asked.

  “You have no idea,” he dryly replied.

  And, now, she was insanely curious to know what kind of woman would pitch over Grant Kendrick.

  “Should I apologize to her?” Kade asked.

  Kathleen shook her head. “That would just embarrass her even more.”

  “Go rustle up Angus and have him play chaperone,” Grant said. “And have Mrs. Graham fetch Jeannie a nice, calming cup of tea. Then tell our coachman to ready the carriage to go home.”

  When Kade headed down the stairs, Kathleen started after him.

  “Don’t you want to see the view?” Grant asked.

  She frowned. “But we’re not chaperoned, either.”

  “Are you going to try to kiss me?”

  “Of course not!” she indignantly said.

  “Then I think we’re fine. Besides, the carriage will take at least a half hour to organize. And the view truly is spectacular.”

  When she hesitated, he tilted an eyebrow. “Do you really want to face Jeannie right now?”

  “Well, no.” Her sister would probably rip a strip off her.

  “Smart lass. I’ll go first so I can help you through the trapdoor. Be careful on the steps.”

  “I promise not to go arse over teakettle.”

  He snorted and climbed up to the door, thus affording Kathleen an excellent view of his muscled legs and equally muscled, well, arse—not to be delicate about it.

  She started up, pausing halfway as he squeezed through the small trapdoor. His shoulders filled the opening. For a moment, from his annoyed muttering, it seemed he might get stuck.

  His finally squeezed through, hoisting himself up and out of sight. Quickly, his head appeared, and he reached down a long arm to help her through the door. He lifted her off the top step with effortless strength and carefully deposited her on the narrow parapet that ringed the top of the tower. His big hands circled her waist, holding her steady as she regained her footing.

  She did feel a bit wobbly, although she suspected that had more to do with his presence than from the dizzying height of the tower.

  “I trust heights don’t bother you,” he said in a slightly gruff tone.

  Kathleen placed both hands on the stone parapet, regaining her mental balance. “Not in the slightest. You may release me now, Mr. Kendrick. I am perfectly steady.”

  When he edged over to the side, leaving a few feet between them, she repressed the impulse to be disappointed.

  Silly girl.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  She’d been so busy trying to ignore her fluttering heartbeat that she’d not yet taken in the view. Now, she uttered a gasp of delight.

  “I had no idea how lovely it would be. One doesn’t really get the sense of it on the drive up.”

  He leaned his forearms on the parapet, letting his gaze scan the landscape stretched out before them. “I’d forgotten how spectacular it is, especially on a clear day.”

  The castle stood on a high hill, surrounded by sloping meadows full of purple heather and wild cranberry bogs. Beyond them ran the woods through which they had traveled, their leaves a dappled texture of various greens laced with vibrant autumn colors. Near the ring wall on one side of the castle, a small lake glittered under the late afternoon sunshine.

  Mugdock might not belong in a fairy tale, but the setting certainly did.

  She gazed down at the lake. “Are those swans?”

  “Yes, whooper swans. The Grahams are quite proud of them. Been here for generations.”

  “That was the final romantic touch this vista needed, I must say.”

  He shaded his eyes to smile down at her. In the dazzling sunlight, his hair seemed gilded with fire.

  “When Graeme intended to charm a young lady, he would bring her up here.”

  Kathleen couldn’t resist. “And what about you? Did you employ similar methods?”

  “In fact, I do believe you’re my first.” Then he frowned, as if registering what he’d just said. “Not that I’m trying to charm you, of course. At least not like that.”

  Hopeless.

  “Well, I declare myself perfectly charmed,” she said after a short but awkward pause. “Mugdock Castle has redeemed itself.”

  He raised incredulous eyebrows. “You mean you’re not charmed by crumbling walls, dank privies, and dust-covered cellars, no matter how historic?”

  “Is it even possible for privies to be historic?”

  “It is if Robert the Bruce used it.”

  She had to laugh. “All right. I can appreciate the historic nature of Mugdock while still having no desire to sleep under its roof.”

  “Jeannie would not agree.”

  She smiled. “I’m quite surprised to discover that she’s the romantic in the family. That was supposed to be me.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  She shot him a sideways glance, but he was absently gazing out over the countryside, as if not really seeing it.

  “Maybe we should show her the privies,” Kathleen said.

  He laughed. “All right, if Mugdock isn’t your style, what is?”

  She didn’t have to think about it. “Greystone Manor, my family’s estate in Ireland.”

  He turned toward her, leaning a hip against the parapet. “What’s it like?”

  “Not like Scotland, and certainly not like Mugdock. Not that I don’t think it’s beautiful up here,” she hastily added. “But there’s something so rugged about Scotland. It’s got its own sort of beauty, but it’s . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to offend him.

  “Harsh? Wait till you see the Highlands.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she ruefully said.

  “Och, ye’ll be fine.”

  Kathleen wasn’t so sure about that.

  “So, tell me more about Greystone,” he prompted.

  “Well, the house itself isn’t historic. It was only built in the last century. It’s elegant and pretty, and very much in the classical style.”

  “And no dank privies.”

  She held up a finger. “All the most up-to-date plumbing. Helen insisted.”

  He gently nudged her around to the other side of the tower. “You don’t strike me as a lass who spends all her time indoors, no matter how good the plumbing.”

  She was momentarily distracted by the new view. “That’s quite amazing.”

  “It’s not Ireland, but still rather nice.”

  “I never said that Scotland wasn’t beautiful,” she said, ignoring his grin.

  He might not flirt, but Grant could clearly tease, when he put his mind to it.

  “Just not as nice as Ireland,” he said.

  “Nothing’s as nice as Ireland. But this is quite wonderful, I must say.”

  “Those are the Campsie Fells.” He pointed to a high ridge of hills in the distance. “On a really clear day, you can catch a glimpse of the mountains around Loch Katrine.” His gaze was locked on the horizon. “Sometimes I swear you can see all the way to Castle Kinglas.”

  She couldn’t help being curious. “What’s Kinglas like?”

  “Grand,” he thoughtfully said. “A great, grand old castle tucked between lake and sky, with mountains to keep it company.”

  She blinked at the poetic description—and at his handsome, austere profile. He seemed to be looking at something far, far away.

  “It sounds very romantic,” she softly said.

  His gaze snapped into focus as he glanced down at her. “It’s certainly in better shape than poor old Mugdock. Kinglas is a working estate, and it takes a great deal of management and work from Nick and Victoria and the staff to maintain it. It’s a constant battle to keep the bloody place from falling apart. With these old castles, romantic generally only runs to the surface.”

  She frowned at the sudden change in attitude. “But you still love it.”

  He shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting under his coa
t. “Yes, but it’s not really home for me anymore. And it has its bad points. It’s bloody cold and snowy in the winter, for one thing. Sometimes we’d get snowed in for weeks. That, I assure you, isn’t the least romantic.”

  It could be, with the right person.

  “That is a commendably realistic view of life,” she said instead.

  “I am nothing if not realistic, Miss Calvert.”

  Turning slightly away from him, she propped her chin in her hands and drank in the view. “Well, as I said before, it’s not Ireland, but I like it.”

  He snorted. “What makes Ireland so much better than Scotland or England?”

  “Fewer Sassenachs.”

  When he laughed outright at that, for a moment the breath caught in her throat. He had a deep laugh, full of warmth and life. In response, her body came alive with a joy that somehow seemed part of everything around them, from the stones beneath their feet to the crystal-blue vault of the sky.

  “That’s certainly one mark in Ireland’s favor.” The warmth of his laugh lingered in his smile. “What else?”

  A jumble of words gathered on the tip of her tongue. Words like lush, green, soft, and welcoming. Cherished images flooded her mind ... the rushing brook that ran through the bluebell meadow, the deep, cool woods, and the thick fields of clover. But words could never really catch the feel of the place and what it meant to her.

  In the end, only one word did. “It’s home.”

  Even more importantly, it had been her mother’s home. Where Mamma had lived and loved her husband and children, creating a haven of peace and beauty for everyone blessed to know her.

  His gaze turned thoughtful. “And you miss it.”

  Kathleen had to swallow against the sudden emotion that had tightened her throat. “More than anything.”

  “But I understand you haven’t been back since you were sent to school in Bath.”

  She mentally frowned. How did he know that sort of detail?

  “That is correct,” she cautiously answered.

  “Don’t you think it might have changed? Be different now from your memories?”

  She flushed under the disconcerting intensity of his gaze.

  “No, I don’t think so. I grew up there, with my family. With my mother.” And her mother’s memory made all the difference.

  He glanced away for a moment. “Of course, your mother. Forgive me, Miss Calvert. It makes perfect sense that you would miss her, and your old home.”

  There was something in his voice she couldn’t quite interpret. Regret? No, that wasn’t it.

  “I . . . I understand that you lost both your parents at a young age,” she hesitantly said.

  Silence stretched between them, broken only by the snapping of the heraldic banner flying above them, and the cry of a hawk circling overhead.

  “I was seven when my mother died,” he said. “And I . . . we lost my father two years later.”

  His tone was flat. Too flat.

  A quiet sorrow that had as much to do with her mother as with his terrible loss rustled in her chest.

  Kathleen reached out and touched his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  His gaze shifted to her hand resting on his sleeve. “You needn’t be. It was a long time ago.”

  “But—”

  Grant suddenly leaned over the parapet and looked down. “Ah, there’s Angus, waving at us. The carriage must be ready.”

  When he turned back to her, his polite smile was firmly back in place. “Shall we go, Miss Calvert?”

  The message was clear. Her sympathy—or anything else she might offer—was not wanted. As far as Kathleen was concerned, that was perfectly fine.

  Chapter Eight

  Will, the Kendrick’s under-butler, deftly caught the perfectly thrown cricket ball.

  “Wide,” called Angus.

  Kade whipped around to stare at his grandfather in disbelief. “Grandda, that bowl was not wide.”

  Angus shrugged. “Looked wide to me.”

  “It was well within Her Grace’s reach, and you know it.”

  At the opposite end of their makeshift pitch, Gillian grinned as she casually leaned on her bat. “There’s no need for titles whilst playing cricket, my boy. And if it was such a good bowl, then why didn’t I strike it?”

  “Because you know that Angus is throwing the match your way?” Kade retorted.

  Kathleen smothered a laugh. A dreadful umpire to begin with, Angus had clearly decided to side with the ladies. He’d already made several outrageously bad calls against his grandson’s team, composed of Will, a footman, and two of the Kendrick grooms, one of whom switched between teams to fill in the gaps.

  It was possibly the most ridiculous match in the history of cricket, and Kathleen had spent almost as much time laughing as she’d spent fielding the ball. It could barely qualify as a real game, given the small size of their teams and how the rules were being largely ignored by almost everyone but Kade and Kathleen.

  Restless after two weeks away from her family, Gillian had suggested a match as a way to shake out the fidgets. Jeannie had thought it a smashing idea, and Kathleen had been unable to refuse. She loved cricket and was the best fielder in the family, though she rarely got to play since Helen disapproved of girls playing cricket.

  Angus had suggested using the small park in front of Kendrick House for their field and had also agreed to serve as umpire. The other team members had been dragooned from the staff, and Gillian had decreed that the teams would be the ladies against the men. Kade had protested, since he was the only member of his team who’d actually played cricket. The duchess had insouciantly ignored his objections.

  Playing in the public square had given Kathleen a bit of a qualm. True, the pretty little park was generally quiet, especially in the late afternoon, but it was still surrounded by houses. So far, their visit to Glasgow had been scandal free, and she wanted to keep it that way.

  “We’ll ask Vicky,” Gillian had suggested. “If she says no, I suppose we’ll just have to go for a another walk to get some exercise.”

  “Ugh,” Jeannie had said with a grimace. “I’m sick of walks.”

  Victoria, going over the monthly accounts with Henderson in her study, had absently given her approval. So after they’d unearthed the necessary equipment out of the attic, they’d marched out to the square. Gillian and Kade had measured out the pitch, and Kathleen had explained the basic rules to Will and the somewhat bemused staff.

  But if not for the blatant advantage provided by Angus, the men’s team would probably win. Kathleen had grown rusty, and Jeannie’s powerful swing was erratic. Gillian was the only member of their team with the athletic skill to offset superior male strength.

  Angus, grabbing the kitchen stool meant to serve as a wicket, pretended to be outraged by Kade’s accusation. “Are ye truly accusin’ yer old grandda of being a cheat? Because if ye are, yer not too old for me to paddle yer bum.”

  “You can borrow my bat if you like,” Jeannie offered with a sly grin.

  Kathleen knew her sister had yet to fully forgive Kade’s appropriate but embarrassing rejection at Mugdock. Kade, fortunately, had been nothing but patient with Jeannie ever since, although he’d been careful to avoid too much contact with her.

  Still, he’d readily agreed to their absurd plan this afternoon, and Kathleen was now relieved to see Jeannie behaving more comfortably with him.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Kade wryly replied. “He might actually take you up on it.”

  “You did accuse him of cheating,” Jeannie said.

  “Because he is.” Kade frowned at his grandfather. “And why are you taking the stool? That’s supposed to be our wicket.”

  “I need to sit myself down,” Angus said, perching on the stool.

  “We need a wicket to play the bloody game,” Kade retorted.

  The old fellow began to refill his pipe with tobacco. “Ye’ll manage.”

  Kade scoffed. “This is the silliest game of cric
ket in history.”

  “Yes, but it’s good fun, don’t you think?” Jeannie replied as she took practice swings with her bat.

  Kade hastily stepped to the side. “You say that because you’re winning.”

  Jeannie’s laugh echoed through the small park, drawing the notice of two matrons on a stroll. They paused, eyeing the cricketers with vague disapproval. Still, when Kathleen dropped a curtsy and flashed a smile, one of the ladies gave her a friendly nod.

  “Stop jabbering and throw the ball,” Gillian yelled from her end of the pitch.

  She’d assumed her stance, slightly crouched, waiting for Kade to bowl.

  The matrons, after giving them now decidedly disapproving stares, disappeared into a mansion a few doors down from Kendrick House.

  “Perhaps we should lower our voices,” Kathleen suggested. “We don’t want to disturb the neighbors.”

  “Och, nae need to worry about Mrs. Buchanan and her sister,” Angus said. “Vicky always turns ’em up sweet.”

  Kade flexed his arm, preparing to bowl. “Mrs. Buchanan secretly likes all of us, especially Grant. We can always send him over to charm her if she kicks up a fuss.”

  “Why Grant?” Kathleen couldn’t help asking. Of all the Kendricks, he seemed the least likely to charm anyone.

  He charmed you, though, didn’t he?

  She steadfastly ignored that inner voice.

  “That’s because our Grant is an old sobersides, just like Mrs. Buchanan,” Angus said. “She was married to a vicar, ye ken. Says Grant reminds her of yon late husband.”

  Kathleen laughed.

  “Course, our lad wasn’t always that way,” Angus added with a broad wink. “He just needs to find the right lassie to remind him how to have fun again.”

  Kathleen mentally winced. After their Mugdock outing, Grant seemed to be avoiding her. That was rather a shame, since she’d caught a glimpse of a different sort of man up there on that high tower. Grant had been the opposite of boring, then. He’d displayed an intensity she’d found both attractive and disconcerting.

  But by the time they’d returned to Kendrick House, he’d reverted to form—politely bland and mostly disinterested. He’d been that way for the last five days. And, yes, unfortunately, she’d been counting.